


Chasing Smoke in a Dusty Wind

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Castiel almost forgets that Lucifer isn’t just a man with the voice of liquid silver and overpowering presence that makes him want to give in.  That he’s Luke Novak, the serial killer who killed Castiel’s best friend’s brother.</p><p>Sometimes, he almost forgets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Smoke in a Dusty Wind

“ _Hello, Castiel_.”

Lucifer’s voice is soft and crooning (and no it’s not Lucifer, it’s Luke, this is _Luke_.)

Luke Novak, on the other end of the phone, breathing even and soft.  “It’s four o’clock in the morning,” Castiel can’t help but snap, trying to force irritability over the rough crackedness that is his morning voice.

There’s a breathy laugh on the other end.  “ _I love the sound of your voice in the morning_ ,” Luke whispers.  There’s an intimacy in his words that curls in Castiel’s belly; as though Castiel in the morning is something Luke’s used to, something he can’t quite get enough of.  “ _Makes me want to do all sorts of nasty, delicious things to you_.”

A shiver runs up Castiel’s spine, leaves him trembling in the wake of a massive full-body spasm as his muscles tense all at once.

Because _God_ – how could he have forgotten, even just for an instant –

_Barrelling through the crowed of hushed whispers and cries of disgust, to see Dean kneeling on the floor and cradling something in his arms._

_No, not something – some_ one _.  Bile rises in Castiel’s mouth as he edges closer to his friend, closer to the mangled, skinned corpse that Dean is holding like a baby on his lap._

_Though there’s no way to determine the identity of the corpse from this distance, Castiel knows instantly whose it must be._

_(There’s no one else Dean would hold like that.)_

“Where are you, Mr. Novak?”

Castiel keeps his voice as cold and smooth – professional, _stay professional_ – as possible.  He wishes he didn’t have to; wishes he could let all of that rage seep through, wonders whether if enough of it does, he might be able to burn the murderer with it.

Another laugh, then a soft huff of exaggerated disappointment.  “ _Woken up, have you, Detective?  Pity_.  _Though I’ve never disliked your rage; it’s so…_ ”

“Where are you, Mr. Novak?” Castiel repeats, before Luke can finish his sentence.  He doesn’t want to know what Luke gets out of his anger.  He doesn’t want to know that Luke gets anything even remotely enjoyable from him.

“ _And what would you do if I told you, Cas?_ ”

He ignores the implication in those words, the way his nickname ( _don’t you dare_ ) rolls off the serial killer’s tongue like a caress.  _Don’t call me that_ , he almost says – but he’s got to stay calm, has to, and so simply replies, “I’d find you.”

“ _Hmm.  Tempting_ ,” Lucifer ( _Luke, Luke_ ) muses.  “ _But I don’t think you’re the type to put out in front of company, are you, sweetheart?  And as much as I’d love to see you, I’m afraid the entourage would be a bit of a downer.  And all those_ guns _.  I hate guns_.”

“I know,” says Castiel before he can stop himself.  “You prefer the intimacy of knives.  You like feeling the life drain from your victims.  You like that you can make it fast and painful, or slow and painless.  The killing isn’t the finale – it’s the audience leaving their seats at the end of a show.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and he hears the killer’s breath still. 

For one infinite, lightning-fast second, Castiel thinks he might have actually shocked the other man; perhaps discomfited him, just slightly. 

But that hope is instantly crushed by the sound of a laugh tickling his ear through the receiver.  The genuine delight, the _lightness_ in Lucifer’s ( _Luke’s_ ) chuckle makes Castiel’s stomach turn.  “ _Oh, baby.  We’re going to have so much fun_.”


End file.
